#writtings

TW: kind of gore, theres blood and sh

"MNEMOSYX, the brand new technology of the successful NEXUS corporation!

For a fair price of  280.50 coins, you can get yourself this revolutionary implant that improves your brain's data storage capacities! And further-"

The bartender turns off the TV. Without its glow, only the cheap lamps illuminate the place.

-"It's worse and worse." The bartender starts talking while cleaning glasses "They're trying to make half-clanger zombies now."

The late-night worker shakes his head in disapproval.

Once the glasses are clean, he walks around the counter and approaches the last person still present in his shop.

-"You have to leave now, we're closing."

The strong voice of the bartender wakes Kya up. Without resistance, he stands up from the stool and silently wobbles away.

-"Good luck with your contest next week!" The bartender calls out before locking the shop.

Night never truly feels like night. All the bright ads projected on the city's buildings makes night time feel just like day. Even the stars have left the sky, and the reflection of the neon lights on the clouds makes it look like the light blue of a bright summer.

Kya stops at the feet of a huge skyscraper proudly wearing the NEXUS logo on its front. Kya, who's been walking head down, lifts his eyes on the building. The card in his hand allows him to step inside without a problem.

-"Good evening, Kya." 

The secretary welcomes him, and he forces a smile at him to not seem impolite.

-"I thought you were off work until your contest."

-"Forgot something."

Kya quickly gets rid of the small talk by getting in the elevator. In the small and cold metal box, Kya stares at his reflection. For a moment, he just loses himself in his own eyes.

The stress of the contest has really gotten to him lately. He hates that look on himself, the exhaustion, the pity, the filth he has been carrying for the past three weeks. 

His keys open the janitor's closet. Kya takes a broom and starts cleaning the hallway. Politely nodding at the workers in expensive suits walking by.

He carefully makes his way through the hallway, unnoticed because god forbid these brainless shits even glance at the poor janitor.

He had memorized the map of this entire floor just for this moment.

Kya reaches into his pocket for his card again, but this time the door bips red.

-"Fuck!" Kya throws the broom at the door

Before he could take a breath to calm down, a man in a suit approached him, an eyebrow arched in the same judgemental look every man of his kind gives people like Kya.

-"This room really needs a good cleaning. That's the problem with engineers, they may be cheap, but they're a real mess."

The man opens the door with his card and leaves with the same confidence with which he arrived.

Kya was too stunned to thank the man properly, so he simply rushed inside, closed the door behind himself, leaned against it to take a breath, and calm down. His eyes sweep over the small room. 

Isn't a room where the greatest technology of our time is designed supposed to be bigger?

In a hurry, Kya starts checking through every drawer and box in the room. If anyone walked past the room, they'd definitely hear the noise Kya's making. But engineers are messy, right? So Kya keeps looking through the different prototypes without bothering with the noise he's making. 

"MNEMOSYX 2.0"

Kya stares at the small device, and thoughts flood his head.

This is better than what he was looking for.

The prototype must be recent, considering the first MNEMOSYX has just been launched.

Sitting on his couch back at home, Kya stares at the small implant on his coffee table, next to his now warm whiskey.

With shaky hands, he grabs a pair of scissors and starts messily cutting the section of his hair just above his neck, the strands of hair falling onto the back of the couch. Then, without giving himself a chance to think further, he cuts open the skin there. Bright flashing lights jump into his eyes under his eyelids as he keeps dragging the blade across his own skin. The thick blood drips down his neck and stains his dirty T-shirt.

The scissors fall from his hand. His eyes are wide open when he grabs the MNEMOSYX 2.0.

Kya inserts the prototype inside the open wound, causing a cry of pain to escape him.

His eyes are still open, but he can't see anything under the overwhelming pain of the implant burning his flesh. Kya stands up in surprise, trying to flee the pain. After taking two steps ahead, Kya faints and falls face-first on the carpet.

The small apartment lit by the small service that's glowing through the window.

Through the mirror, she watches her long brown hair being branded by her own hands. A smile glued to her face, lifting her round cheeks to her eyes, which makes them disappear in a thin line.

"Why are we so happy.?"

The dress is light, both in its weight and color, which is perfect for the weather of this early spring.

"We're in the middle of winter.."

Kya wakes up, mouth dry, face itchy. He slowly rises from the carpet.

-"Fuck-"

His neck hurts at the slightest movement.

After covering the wound, Kya sits back on the couch.

Mnemosyx is supposed to increase the brain's ability to remember. Remember more, and remember better. Exactly what he needs for the contest.

"I'm so hungry we really could eat a good tofu sandwich right now."

There's no tofu in the fridge. Kya never ate tofu in his life. So he grabs a bottle of soup and downs it. He has 6 days of training and studying ahead of him for his contest. Which should be easy now with the implant.

The room is filled with empty cans and bottles of cheap food. Half of them, Kya doesn't remember buying them. Kya opens his eyes, his eyelids still heavy with the dreams he just had.

-"Again?" Kya rubs his eyes, curling into himself

His body has been feeling weak lately. He suspects the implant. It must require more energy than anticipated. So he forces himself to eat more.

And after four days spent amidst a mess of dirt and mold, Kya jumps to his feet to celebrate.

-"We're getting that stupid cash prize, baby!"

Kya hypes himself up; the implant is found effective. He fixes the wig on his head as he walks to the fridge to down another bottle of soup.

On his way to the bar, Kya feels for the first time this month that he'll succeed.

He's so happy that he can't rip off the smile on his lips, and in the haze of his joy, he doesn't notice the people staring at him as he walks by.

She's so excited for that date! She's been waiting for weeks.

"That's why we were happy.."

The guy had beautiful green eyes and was apparently rich enough to pay for a restaurant on the first date.

"A guy.?"

-"Hey, lady, how can I help?" The bartender welcomes

-"Lady?"

The bartender stares from behind the counter before bursting into laughter.

-"Kya, dude, what the fuck-?"

Kya ignores the laughter and goes to sit down at his usual stool. He takes the drink his friend hands him, who's still laughing. 

Kya takes a big sip, representative of how satisfied he feels at the moment.

He places the glass back down, but notices lipstick.

-"You can't serve dirty glasses!" Kya gets upset

-"What do you mean?" The bartender looks closely at the glass

-"There's lipstick!" Kya stands up, outraged

-"But you're wearing lipstick?" The bartender points out

Through the mirror, she focuses on her lips. They don't look good today, but a bit of lipstick should hide that.

"Where did we get that lipstick from?"

Kya wipes his mouth off and, with terror, sees the red stain on the back of his hand.

-"Holy..." 

The realization hits him weirdly in his chest. As if all the quiet suspicion he's been having the past days is revealing itself true.

-"Don't tell me you don't know about the wig either." The bartender jokes

But Kya shakes his head violently, only to watch a wig fly off his head to the floor.

Kya runs away in panic, confused, and humiliated. 

He runs back home and starts looking in every corner for anything unusual. Until he sits at his laptop and decides to check the history of research. Kya frenetically scrolled through the thousands of research papers he had made for the contest.

"MNEMOSYX creation process"

Kya clicks on the link, and a video starts playing.

"Today's show will focus on NEXUS and their new revolutionary technology MNEMOSYX, which splendidly mixes the knowledge of biology and engineering!

Our brain can store up to the equivalent of 2.5 million gigabytes of digital memory. A precious resource for a world where technology grows faster than the resources the planet can give.

We use the brains of official organ donors to experiment and create MNEMOSYX. To help our students and workers in their everyday life without burning as much energy-"

-"What a bitch!" Kya slams his laptop closed

He knew he was stealing a recent prototype of a technology that hadn't even been announced yet.

What if...

She is running back home, face in hands, and crying. Running away from the failed date.

"Why are we so sad.?"

Her dress sticks to her skin because of the light spring rain pouring over the city.

Kya wakes up in sweat. They had fallen asleep in front of their laptop. The last time they had a nightmare was in their childhood. The dream is too far now, but all they can remember is the strong headlight of a van rushing toward them.

-"Shit, the contest is today??"

Kya realizes they've been sleeping for days when he sees the date shown on his clock. They rush through their apartment and run toward the building where the contest takes place.

-"Candidate number." The secretary of the contest asks in a tone that makes it clear it's the 1000th time he said it today

-"2863." They answer

-"Under what name, 'Ma'am?"

-"Lisa."

-"You're registered under the name Lisa 2863."

-"Ahh, Kya, sorry." They correct themselves

The secretary throws a glare up at them and quickly changes the name "You can join the other, third door to your left, travlo."

They start walking to the door, barely processing the "travlo" comment. When they push the door, they enter this huge room, and some people are already sitting at their desks.

They find their seats and start preparing the desk for the contest.

Soon, the papers are distributed to everyone. They turn the paper around and start reading it carefully.

But freezes at the realization that they don't remember.

NO.

I don't remember.

-"FUUCK!" 

He hit his fists on the table, bringing attention to himself, by both the other candidates and the staff.

-"Sir, you need to calm down, or we'll be obligated to get you out of this room."

He has to control his breathing. He can't be kicked out now. Not this close to the goal

She runs and runs and runs through the soft rain, still sobbing loudly through the streets.

"Stupid green eyes."

She steps onto the road without checking as she wipes her tears away with her arm.

"Watch out!"

They stare at the sheet in front of them. At this rate, they're going to lose the contest. They're going to lose the cash prize.

No!

I'm going to lose the cash prize.

These dreams I've been having...

I know they're memories from the implant.

It was an unfinished prototype.

The memories weren't erased from it yet.

And she?

Lisa..

She wants to live.

It's human nature.

Fight with all its being just to keep existing.

Even when reduced to an implant.

His breath heaves violently. His eyes are down on the paper in front of him, but he doesn't really see it. His hand tightens around his pencil to lift it up slowly with trembling hands. And with a brutal movement, pierces the still soft wound on the back of his neck. He instinctively curls on himself, groaning in pain as he keeps assaulting his own body.

People stop writing to watch the horror show presented to them. But Kya is too far gone to notice the whispers growing in the room.

The pencil covered in burning red is placed back on the desk. And for a moment, the audience thought it was the end of it. Before Kya reaches into his own wound to rip off the small device to throw it onto the floor. Kya can't even look at the implant. The LEDs are slowly dying.

She's lifted onto the stretcher. Her beautiful dress is being cut open by the ambulance worker. She stares at the ceiling of the ambulance, tears rolling down her face.

"..."

Her vision blurs to a pitch black, leaving her alone in the middle of the fading beeping of the machines surrounding her.

Yeah

Original crooks

Original heads

Doin' it like this

Word up

I woke up in the mornin', hopped on the train I saw my man He had an L in his hand, hide it from the At least I catch a bus before I hit my block I take a mega hit from the "On The Good Ship Lollipop" Move the hop so I can put the hip in the grip Everybody slip so I can take a trip to the dip Dig a deeper hole microphone control with soul Look at my hot eyes and tell me how could you be cold? I'm comin' to you from the underground, with thunder sound

Go from left to right then front to back Herbal verbal letters give the mic contact React whenever I keep the head scopin 'Ah, don't front, you know I got cha opin

First of all listen, I'm the in you know That when you see me at a show you better prepare for the flow Right away, I'm dimmin' the brighter day

still don't nothin' move but the honey out the pay So I enter the brother zone I come to the front of the stage and let you know who's on the phone Leave it alone See it's a hip-hop thang Not a fake drip drop fame or corny lame You can fool the rest but you can't fool me See the best school me for the simple fact

I gots to let her know That I elevate at levels higher every time I felt the fire People tried to diss when your jam got coldUsed to be the man now your band got old I know the plan, so I keep 'em scopin 'Don't front you know I got cha opin

Sometimes I feel this way on pic when I'm talking and posting on the blog, @paleprayercard. Other times, I identify with and am represented by a certain actress; I'm on my knees or subjugating them, but certainly with less clothing and more sexiness. There's no contradiction, they're just different facets.

It's part of what they call the "divine feminine," between what's asked of us to serve in conventional families that create new workers and the opposite demanded by capitalism—spending and being attractive 24/7. There's our own agency, which can be contrary to what's imposed by those two, or follow them in part because we share goals, or only sometimes. It's normal that we seem fickle or confused; there are too many institutions telling us what we should do, decide, and be!

Robert pushes the mug forward across the kitchen island when Aaron sits down. His hair short but still somehow messy from sleep. Looking up at Robert from half closed lids, eyebrows pushing his eyes even closer to being fully closed. Robert nods at the mug Aaron following his lead and taking a long sip.

“How long have you even been awake for?” Aaron’s voice is mumbled. Accent thicker than usual with sleep, his voice so deep it makes the hairs on Robert’s arms stick up.

“Couple hours. Doesn’t matter,” Aaron’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead mug leaning on his lips but stopped before he could sip it. Bright blue eyes staring into Robert. “Not like that, I just.. I had this idea in the middle of the night. And I had to work it out.”

It seems to work to calm Aaron down. He sips his coffee. That it was a Robert being crazy thing and not a prison thing. That he was awake because there was an itch in his brain rather than because he felt like his skin didn’t fit him right. Because he woke up screaming from demons that were no longer just around the corner.

“Go on then.”

“Joe thinks Moira will have to sell cause of the farms debts” Robert starts fingers splaying on the counter top. He struggles a bit with the rest- words falling out of his mouth rather than being spoken “and- well the whole being in jail thing-“

“Do we have to go through how you’re fucking my family up at 7 in the morning-“

“Let me finish-“ Robert says eyes tightening and hands forming fists on the table. He never used to feel this nervous before. Robert planned – it was always the way it went. He never felt subconscious about sharing his plans with anyone. Much less Aaron. He knew when Aaron would disapprove- would make him stop something. Kept secrets not because he didn’t believe in what he was doing but because he didn’t want Aarons morals, or Vic’s, to stop him. But this.. Well Robert wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure how Aaron was gonna respond and wasn’t sure it was even… a good idea.

When he opened his eyes Aaron was still staring at him. A small nod for him to continue. He wasn’t sure how long he had been quiet for.

“The money Joe paid me and Vic for our half of the farm... My part of it should be enough to cover Moira's debt. Or most of it.” Robert said letting his hands relax, palms down on the cold countertop.

Aaron looked at him with one raised brow “And what you’d just give her the money? Get nothing in return?”

“No-“ the small chuckle earned him a look “But I was thinking-" Aaron is completly focused on him now. Curiousity winning over the sleepiness. "Cain has the garage. And if he wanted to get rid of that debt. Make the farm work while Moira’s in prison. Stick it to Joe…”

Aaron is quiet looking at him like he’s crazy “You want to buy the garage?!”

Robert shrugged "I want us to buy the garage"

Thanks for the tags to @aelric @aaronsugdens & @jonathan-harks (and everyone who tagged me in other weeks when i had nothing to actually share rip <3)

but i actually did write a bit of timetravel part 2 (2025!Robert/2015!Aaron at the Lodge) today since it won the wips poll yesterday!

He knows the two natural responses to stress in theory. Fight or Flight. He as also come to learn that flight is often not an option, and that fight makes it worst. Knows intimately the feeling of a body beaten bloody.

This is not it.

He remembers the farm – the pull of muscles put to real use. The silence of a brain too tired to think. One that finally that lets him actually sleep. The warm sore of the day after. Of feeling useful.

This is not that either.

His body aches with the dull pain of sudden use. The push of adrenaline into his muscles so he can go a little further, survive a little longer. The ache of trying. But he can’t remember what he was running from.

It’s terrifying.

He swallows the panic trying to take hold and force his eyes open. His head is the big problem. It’s still pulsing. A big static ball connected to his neck by strings of painpainpain, red and screaming that something is wrong.

Robert opens his eyes. Peels the eyelines back like the chore it is. Fights the nausea.

There’s a ray of sunlight coming through a window which falls across the wooden floor over his left leg. From ankle to calf. He’s leaning against a plush couch. Brown. His head pounds. Knows in a second that if he could turn his head and look out the window he would see trees and green for miles.

But he doesn't need to turn his head. Not when the first thing he sees is the pair of angry blue eyes starting straight at him.